Torture to Her Soul
Page 81
I cut my eyes toward Karissa, watching as she stirs her food around with a fork. I don't think she's eaten any of it.
Neither have I.
Leaning over, I whisper in her ear. "Not hungry?"
She edges closer, her voice only loud enough for me to hear. "You weren't eating, so I figured it might not be safe for me, either."
Her lips curve into a small smile as I laugh, shrugging when she cuts her eyes at me. Her smile turns to laughter before Ray clears his throat beside us, garnering our attention. "Got something funny you'd like to share?"
Karissa silences immediately, as I turn to Ray. "Private joke."
He doesn't look amused.
His gaze burns through me for a moment before his focus turns to Karissa. "So, Miss Rita—"
"Reed," she interjects. "My name is Karissa Reed… not Rita."
The entire room grows silent, the sound of clanking forks so loud I see Karissa flinch at the unexpected noise. People don't correct the boss, nor do they talk back to him. He could call you fucking Benedict Arnold and the rest of these guys would tolerate it so not to rock the boat.
But boat rocking is in Karissa's nature.
It's a side effect of her mother's smothering.
"Reed," Ray says, his voice terse. He's not sure how to react to her declaration. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but your father's Johnny Rita."
There's a sharp exhale through the room. That name is like poison—nobody wants to breathe it. Karissa glances around before clearing her throat and looking at Ray. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no father. My name has always been Karissa Reed."
Ray looks to me and lets out a laugh. It's cold, sending a chill through the air. "She certainly doesn't have a father now, does she, Vitale?"
He's usually not one to discuss these sorts of things in public, but he's trying to prove a point—a point that's clearly made when I see Karissa tense from my peripheral. Shaking my head, I look down at my plate. "No, she doesn't."
"Good thing, too," Ray says. "One less Rita means one less traitor in the world. Isn't that right?"
He's staring right at me. I can feel his eyes burning through my skull. My fingertips tingle, itching to wrap around his throat for him asking me these questions in front of her. But I have no choice but to respond, and to give him the answer he wants to hear.
"Right," I say. "One less traitor."
Ray laughs again, his voice barely loud enough for us to hear. "So many more to go."
As if dinner weren't strained before, it's practically torture now. They all go back to acting as if the exchange hadn't happened, and Ray drops the subject like he hadn't been about to address Karissa in the first place. His work here is done, his goal accomplished. He wanted to put me in my place, wanted to show her who called the shots, and she saw it. She's feeling it. I can tell from the way she's not looking at me, the way she's not looking at anything.
She's still here, but she's gone.
Dessert is on the table, Double Chocolate Biscotti being served with coffee. I know Karissa would love it, but she doesn't even acknowledge it's there. The others are laughing, but she's on the cusp of tears. I can see her hands shaking in her lap as she fights to hold her emotion in, but it's getting to be too much.
Grabbing my napkin from my lap, I toss it on the table and stand. Leaning toward Ray, I whisper, "We're heading out now."
He looks at me. "So soon?"
I don't have to respond. He doesn't give me a chance, anyway. He stands up the same time Karissa does and reaches for her. His hands clasp a hold of hers before she can pull them away.
"I'm glad you could join us," he says, pressing yet another kiss to the back of her hand. "Always a pleasure, Miss Rita. Always a pleasure."
She pulls away without responding and jets from the room. Ray turns to me, slapping a hand on my shoulder and squeezing before sitting back down.
"Thanks for dinner," I say, although he knows I didn't eat a bite of it.
"You're welcome any time, Vitale," he says. "Be in touch about that thing we talked about. After it's handled, you and I will talk about the girl."
Karissa is standing at the car when I step outside, resting on the back bumper, leaning against the trunk. My footsteps waver, my muscles tensing. I unlock the doors, and she pushes away from the car, walking the rest of the way to get in the passenger seat.
She says nothing to me on the drive home.
Says nothing to me once we get there.
I pull the car into the garage and cut the engine, sitting there for a moment in silence. Karissa gets out, wordlessly using her keys to go inside without me. I give it a few minutes before following, finding her upstairs, already in bed, blanket pulled up over her head.
I don't disturb her, staring at her for a moment before I walk back out. I go down to the den and sit there for a while in the darkness, my mind a flurry of thoughts, before I grab my keys again and head back out.
I have things to take care of.
I'm not sure what to say to her.
I drive through the boroughs, out of the city, to a small rural town to the north, heading down familiar roads I've driven dozens of times before. I pull up in front of the cabin situated on the edge of a span of woods. It's nighttime, and the windows are obscured with darkness, but the familiar Chevy Suburban parked out front tells me the one I need to see is home.
Neither have I.
Leaning over, I whisper in her ear. "Not hungry?"
She edges closer, her voice only loud enough for me to hear. "You weren't eating, so I figured it might not be safe for me, either."
Her lips curve into a small smile as I laugh, shrugging when she cuts her eyes at me. Her smile turns to laughter before Ray clears his throat beside us, garnering our attention. "Got something funny you'd like to share?"
Karissa silences immediately, as I turn to Ray. "Private joke."
He doesn't look amused.
His gaze burns through me for a moment before his focus turns to Karissa. "So, Miss Rita—"
"Reed," she interjects. "My name is Karissa Reed… not Rita."
The entire room grows silent, the sound of clanking forks so loud I see Karissa flinch at the unexpected noise. People don't correct the boss, nor do they talk back to him. He could call you fucking Benedict Arnold and the rest of these guys would tolerate it so not to rock the boat.
But boat rocking is in Karissa's nature.
It's a side effect of her mother's smothering.
"Reed," Ray says, his voice terse. He's not sure how to react to her declaration. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but your father's Johnny Rita."
There's a sharp exhale through the room. That name is like poison—nobody wants to breathe it. Karissa glances around before clearing her throat and looking at Ray. "As far as I'm concerned, I have no father. My name has always been Karissa Reed."
Ray looks to me and lets out a laugh. It's cold, sending a chill through the air. "She certainly doesn't have a father now, does she, Vitale?"
He's usually not one to discuss these sorts of things in public, but he's trying to prove a point—a point that's clearly made when I see Karissa tense from my peripheral. Shaking my head, I look down at my plate. "No, she doesn't."
"Good thing, too," Ray says. "One less Rita means one less traitor in the world. Isn't that right?"
He's staring right at me. I can feel his eyes burning through my skull. My fingertips tingle, itching to wrap around his throat for him asking me these questions in front of her. But I have no choice but to respond, and to give him the answer he wants to hear.
"Right," I say. "One less traitor."
Ray laughs again, his voice barely loud enough for us to hear. "So many more to go."
As if dinner weren't strained before, it's practically torture now. They all go back to acting as if the exchange hadn't happened, and Ray drops the subject like he hadn't been about to address Karissa in the first place. His work here is done, his goal accomplished. He wanted to put me in my place, wanted to show her who called the shots, and she saw it. She's feeling it. I can tell from the way she's not looking at me, the way she's not looking at anything.
She's still here, but she's gone.
Dessert is on the table, Double Chocolate Biscotti being served with coffee. I know Karissa would love it, but she doesn't even acknowledge it's there. The others are laughing, but she's on the cusp of tears. I can see her hands shaking in her lap as she fights to hold her emotion in, but it's getting to be too much.
Grabbing my napkin from my lap, I toss it on the table and stand. Leaning toward Ray, I whisper, "We're heading out now."
He looks at me. "So soon?"
I don't have to respond. He doesn't give me a chance, anyway. He stands up the same time Karissa does and reaches for her. His hands clasp a hold of hers before she can pull them away.
"I'm glad you could join us," he says, pressing yet another kiss to the back of her hand. "Always a pleasure, Miss Rita. Always a pleasure."
She pulls away without responding and jets from the room. Ray turns to me, slapping a hand on my shoulder and squeezing before sitting back down.
"Thanks for dinner," I say, although he knows I didn't eat a bite of it.
"You're welcome any time, Vitale," he says. "Be in touch about that thing we talked about. After it's handled, you and I will talk about the girl."
Karissa is standing at the car when I step outside, resting on the back bumper, leaning against the trunk. My footsteps waver, my muscles tensing. I unlock the doors, and she pushes away from the car, walking the rest of the way to get in the passenger seat.
She says nothing to me on the drive home.
Says nothing to me once we get there.
I pull the car into the garage and cut the engine, sitting there for a moment in silence. Karissa gets out, wordlessly using her keys to go inside without me. I give it a few minutes before following, finding her upstairs, already in bed, blanket pulled up over her head.
I don't disturb her, staring at her for a moment before I walk back out. I go down to the den and sit there for a while in the darkness, my mind a flurry of thoughts, before I grab my keys again and head back out.
I have things to take care of.
I'm not sure what to say to her.
I drive through the boroughs, out of the city, to a small rural town to the north, heading down familiar roads I've driven dozens of times before. I pull up in front of the cabin situated on the edge of a span of woods. It's nighttime, and the windows are obscured with darkness, but the familiar Chevy Suburban parked out front tells me the one I need to see is home.
